Now that is love.
I met Tracey for a quick lunch today at the mall. And now I have another wonderful PB story to share with you...the world...or the 100 or so odd readers of this blog...oops, that sounded like I was saying YOU were odd...hahha...
For the non-banded, early banded, or the i-dont-even-know-what-a-band-is crowd, a PB is a productive burp that is usually a result of eating too quickly, too much, or just the wrong type of food. For me, a PB exhibits itself in one of four ways:
1. Foam from the nose
2. Foam from the mouth
3. From from BOTH the nose and mouth
4. Or the lodged chunk of food shooting out of my mouth.
A PB is not a full on throw up. I don't lose all of my food. Usually just the bite that caused the traffic jam, and the following bites that were sitting on top of that food. A PB is not self induced, no finger into the throat action. In fact, by the time I actually make it to the bathroom (in a perfect world) I usually just open my mouth and *Poof*, magic time.
I have PB'd in the car, in a restaurant, on a cruise ship somewhere in the Gulf, in a parking lot, in the yard, in a bag, in a tupperware container, on myself. (I feel like I could make a Dr. Zuess story book out of all that)
So today, I decided that I would eat a piece of pizza from the food court at the mall. It was a thick piece too...I dont even know what I was thinking. I made it about half way through. Then I get that glazed over expression that Tracey knows is a sign for "I am trying to pay attention to the words coming out of your mouth, but really I am thinking about not throwing up". Eventually I get up and start to walk to the bathroom, but for some reason it is busier in there then Macy's at Christmas time, so I made a quick dash for a door marked "Nursing Mother". Apparently it was a room for a mother to nurse in private. All I knew is that it was empty and had a lock and a sink. PB #1.
After that, we headed to the car. Feeling like my esophagus fireworks works were not finished, I asked Tracey to hand me an empty Wendy's sack from the backseat. He actually found two, and said "Let me double bag this for you, just in case." And he proceeded to even roll the sides down for me. Well, I fought back the building up of saliva in my throat until he got out of my car. I pulled away and PB#2 into the bag. This time it was accompanied by the Amy-esqe nose foam. Problem-o bc I had no napkins. Again. And could only try to control the nose foam with my hands. I pulled over and frantically searched for something I could use to wipe my nose, chin, hands, steering wheel...
NOTHING! CURSE YOU AMY WORKMAN FOR CLEANING YOUR CAR OUT!
I started to weigh the options to decide which article of clothing I could sacrifice for a napkin, but ruled them all out bc I am wearing a precious royal purple cardigan today. So I let it air dry on my hands. I managed to find a woo-woo wipe in my purse (the ones for keeping your lady parts fresh). I made it back to work. Since then, I have found dried up bits on my chin, shirt, and in my hair.
So what have I and hopefully you, learned from this little episode?
1. Don't attempt thick crust pizza this late in the restriction game.
2. Not only should there be "Nursing Mother" rooms at the mall, but "PBing Bandster" rooms.
3. I am going to develop and market a Lapband Car Kit that contains a roll of paper towels, gallon zip lock bags, moist wipes, and a bib.